


The Lucky Ones: Part 3

by eclipsed (lucitae)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Post-Time Skip, post ch 395
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/eclipsed
Summary: Ever since love came to Kiyoomi in the form of a folded wet handkerchief, he has always found love to be unorthodox.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	The Lucky Ones: Part 3

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by [this ushiiwa mango fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656863) ( if u haven't read it yet u really should. ur missing out on life )
> 
> look, my brain just likes things in threes. and rather than choosing _between_ ships why not celebrate the fact they have two hands and can hold onto both?

Ever since love came to Kiyoomi in the form of a folded wet handkerchief, he has always found love to be unorthodox.

The first time he learns of Iwaizumi is against the backdrop of clothes tumbling in the washing machine. The house warming present he brought is left untouched. A plate of mangoes takes center stage on the table. Ushijima’s finger tips are pressed against each other. For a moment Kiyoomi can pretend this is part of the warm up routine. The same way he stretches his wrists before a game. A tic, a habit, a way to calm nerves.

But Ushijima’s voice is low as he recounts the Californian sun.

Kiyoomi thinks of libraries and assignments. Of the distance between collegiate sports and professional ones. About lost opportunities and the end to a love that blossomed where love should not have been found.

How mundane — this end.

Kiyoomi listens because that is all he can do.

He meets Iwaizumi on a Thursday morning, while dropping by Ushijima’s place. Because the fall of curtains on of love doesn’t necessitate a cold and hard end. It isn’t volleyball with its preset amount of point differences or matches. Life makes less distinctions. And rivals can remain rivals while toeing the line of friendship.

Iwaizumi’s shirt is left somewhere between the door and the foot of the bed. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he files through the flurry of paperwork strewn on the bed.

And all Kiyoomi can hear is the splash of water against tiles as Ushijima showers.  
( It reminds him of a bathroom, a sink, and properly dried hands. )

His eyes end up staring at the divot between the crest of his hip and the border of his briefs, where a mark of love is beginning to blossom.

His mouth grows dry.

“You must be Sakusa,” Iwaizumi says when he looks up.

_Ah_.

There is no right way to love.

And unlike volleyball it can’t be polished with a hundred sets of wall drills. It’s not something that can be mitigated by practicing more bumps. There’s no finish point marked by the lack of dust, removal of lint, or a completion of a puzzle.

There is no white paint that dictates out of bounds.

Kiyoomi is in Ushijima’s lap, back flush against Ushijima’s chest as lips brush against the slope of his shoulder. Iwaizumi’s teeth against his carotid as if savoring his pulse. The way his hands grip Kiyoomi’s thigh causes that thready pace to quicken. And Iwaizumi takes it all in.

Iwaizumi pays attention to desperation, to the silent cries Kiyoomi has drowned within himself and draws them out. So that when Kiyoomi gasps it is his name on his tongue.

Like the sports tape that secures his wrist, supporting him until the end of the game. A gentle hand carding through curls, brushing the locks out of his eyes and away from the moles lining his eyebrows, before caressing his jaw as Kiyoomi swallows.

Love does not follow a linear format. It is not so simple as exposition, climax, conclusion.

Kiyoomi rolls his hips as Ushijima’s nails dig into his flesh. Parts his lips as Iwaizumi claims his mouth. And falls asleep, nestled between two warm bodies.

In Kiyoomi’s search for an ideal love, he finds it in the planes of Hajime’s chest and tucked behind Wakatoshi’s sternum.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading to the end of this very self indulgent ot3 fic. u can tell i chickened out on smut. it's been a while okay i'm not ready to re-enter that pwp life.


End file.
